Attribute Of The Strong
by Marauder-In-Disguise
Summary: B'Elanna Torres is tired of being angry...


**A/N ****This is the fifth in my 'Pathways' inspired mini series wherein our favourite crew members meet faces from the past and chew over their time in the Delta Quadrant. You don't need to have read the others – this is a stand alone. **

**Disclaimer: Jeri Taylor owns 'Pathways' and I apparently need to tell you that I don't own the rest – as if that's something you or I are not already keenly aware of…**

_The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong._

_Mahatma Gandhi  
_

The rocking chair on the Paris back porch was fast becoming B'Elanna's favourite place. Miral seemed to appreciate the combination of the rocking motion, the unseasonably warm San Francisco breeze and the just audible sound of the water lapping into the bay; she was quieter and less fussy anyway. B'Elanna had already lost track of the amount of time she had spent sitting and gazing at Miral's face, stroking her forehead until the baby fell asleep and just breathing as much of the fresh, non-recycled air as she possibly could. More often than not, she fell asleep too and had been woken by Tom gathering the pair of them gently in his arms and carrying them through to the bedroom that they were currently occupying. He was working so hard at Starfleet Headquarters, aiding the captain as much as he could with the debriefings and the sheer amount of work that had to be done. B'Elanna felt vaguely guilty sometimes about getting out of helping them with such a vast amount of paperwork and official business, but then she just had to look at Miral and the guilt melted away. She'd given so much to _Voyager_ over the years; maybe it was time for her to take a break. And besides, it wasn't like she wasn't doing anything – in her absence, Vorik and Nicoletti were leading the team of _Voyager_ engineers assigned to try and explain exactly how the ship was still flying after seven years on little more than a wing and a prayer, and one or the other of the pair often dropped by or sent her a message asking her to clarify a point or an odd fact that only she and Joe Carey had known.

Joe Carey. The thought of him was a painful one and she didn't go out of her way to remind herself of it. Even after she waltzed in, stole his job and broke his nose, he'd acted with a huge amount of dignity and turned out to be the best deputy she could have hoped for. She missed him terribly. His gentle smile and encouragement of the younger engineers was something that she often found herself thinking about when she was sat nursing Miral. She'd talked to the Doctor about it, and he'd suggested that her new found motherhood made her more sympathetic to the situation that Joe's family was now in – facing the fact that after all _Voyager _and its crew had been through, the one person they were waiting for didn't come home at all. She rarely listened to the Doctor's attempts at psychology, but she suspected that in this situation, he was right. Sympathy had never been something B'Elanna felt entirely comfortable with, but now she felt deeply for the loss that Joe's children were experiencing.

She'd mentioned it to Tom's mother, Julia, a few times. The older woman had been her constant companion since the Maquis were released from custody and they had been immediately invited to live with Admiral and Mrs. Paris until they were ready to choose their own home. Owen and Tom spent all day at Headquarters and so Gloria was the one who was there to help B'Elanna with the baby. The EMH had acted rather jealously at first, protective of his god daughter and her mother, but even he had been persuaded that he should be at Headquarters and that Julia, as a mother of three and grandmother of four, was perfectly capable of keeping an eye on a new mother and her child. The two of them were getting on well and B'Elanna trusted the older woman enough to talk to her about Joe. She'd said the same thing as the Doctor to begin with, until one day at breakfast when B'Elanna had brought up the subject again and Julia had fixed her bright blue eyes on her daughter – in – law's face.

"_I think I have another explanation for what's going on here, sweetheart."_

"_What's that?"_

"_B'Elanna, do you want me to try and contact your father?"_

"_I beg your pardon?"_

_Julia took her hand across the table and smiled encouragingly, "B'Elanna, all you've talked about since you got here is how you feel so guilty about those two little boys losing their daddy. You practically-"_

"_No, Julia, you're wrong-"_

"_Don't interrupt me, sweetheart. I think you want to talk to your father. You feel guilty because you still have a father and you don't see him. Am I right?"_

"_I don't know. I never really thought about it like that. I-"_

"_You don't have to decide now, B'Elanna. Just let me know if you want me to try and I'll do it, OK?"_

And now she was sat here on the porch, frozen stiff with anxiety at the thought of John Torres coming to visit. She'd spoken briefly to him, from _Voyager_, but that was as far as she believed the contact would have to go. He hadn't been to any of the homecoming events and she expected to hear nothing more from him. Julia said that hunting him down to one of the outposts near Deep Space Four was surprisingly easy, almost as though he had wanted to be found. B'Elanna had ignored that comment as best she could, but it had been bothering her. If he wanted to be found, why didn't he just take a deep breath and be the one to call her? Why did she always have to do the chasing? Julia's comment, innocent enough in its own right, had only served to flick on B'Elanna's defense mechanism and whilst she appreciated the efforts that the old woman had gone to, all B'Elanna had been able to think about for days was the slightly sick feeling in her stomach and the quiet voice telling her that this reunion was going to be far from happy.

She looked down at Miral, who was watching her mother with something bordering on interest. She smiled wryly and kissed the baby's forehead.

"Whatever happens, baby, at least we've tried. Right?"

Just then, the door chime chirped lightly, echoing painfully in her head. She heard Julia answer the door and the faint rumble of a male voice. Breathing deeply through her nose, like Tuvok had once taught her, she thanked the Vulcan's obstinate insistence that she should learn meditation techniques. It was certainly helping now.

The voices got closer.

And then they were there, right at the other side of the screen door. She vaguely heard Julia say something comforting, and then something about coffee but her words sounded fuzzy in B'Elanna's head. Miral was fussing, aware that something was wrong.

And then John Torres stepped through the door, his head slightly bowed and his hands clasped in front of him. When B'Elanna didn't speak, he moved towards the spare porch chair and sat awkwardly. His daughter stared at him; he was smaller than she remembered but apart from that and some grey hair, he was exactly the same man. That was disturbing; she had been vainly hoping that the years would have some effect on him, would have shown that he suffered as much as she had. Eventually, she spoke.

"Hello."

"Hi," he whispered.

"I didn't think you'd come."

She knew that she was the cause of the pained look that flashed across his face but she didn't care. It felt good to hurt him.

"I wanted to see you, B'Elanna. I wanted to see the baby."

"Then why didn't you come to any of the homecoming celebrations? Why did Julia have to come and hunt you down? It seems to me like you wouldn't have bothered at all if she hadn't done that!"

It was more than she had meant to say to him and she suspected that he knew as much, but he didn't bite back like he used to do with her mother. Instead, he just looked at her, his dark eyes too similar to Miral's for her to stare him down properly. That was something she hadn't thought about before; Miral did indeed have her grandfather's eyes.

"I'm sorry, B'Elanna," he eventually sighed, "I was worried that you wouldn't want me there. I didn't want to be in your way."

"Well that seems like a perfectly convenient excuse," she snapped, "Just like old times, huh?"

Julia Paris came out on to the porch at that point, banging the door against the wall and cutting off the end of B'Elanna's sentence. For someone who usually moved so gracefully, it was an odd change of character and it was only when she was putting the tray down on the table and shooting B'Elanna a death look to rival that of Kathryn Janeway did the younger woman realize that she was trying to stop her putting her foot in her mouth before the reunion had even really started.

As if on cue, Miral began to cry and as B'Elanna stood to go and change her, offering silent thanks for the escape route, Julia took the baby from her and winked.

"You stay here, sweetheart," she said breezily, "Me and the little lady have got a date with the changing mat."

"Thanks Julia. Don't forget to use the new lotion that the Doc gave us!"

"I won't, I won't. You have a good talk. We'll be back before you know it."

As her only chance of escape disappeared inside, B'Elanna turned her attention to the pot of coffee on the table. She could feel her father's eyes watching as she carefully poured two mugs and could sense that he was on the verge of saying something. She could practically hear the words on his breath, but then he seemed to change his mind and murmured, "I take it –"

"Black with one sugar," she said crisply, "I remember."

She didn't miss the look of surprise on his face as she handed him his mug and took her own, cradling it between her hands and inhaling the steam appreciatively. Coffee smelled like _Voyager, _like the mess hall, like Tom, like the captain. It smelled like home.

"You drink your coffee the same as me," John observed, sipping from his mug, "I didn't think you were old enough to notice when-"

"When you were at home?" she bit, "I noticed a lot of things. Don't think that because I take coffee like you it gives us something in common."

"B'Elanna-"

"What?"

"Please, stop this."

"Stop what?"

"This over aggressiveness. Your mother was exactly the same, always trying to overcompensate. It's not-"

"Not what, exactly?" she spat, slamming her mug down on the table and making the tray rattle, "Because I don't appreciate you coming in here and bad mouthing me or my mother! Whatever she may have did or been, at least she never abandoned me! At least she was there for most of my life!"

John sat passively throughout the outburst, the liquid darkness of his eyes shining suspiciously as he gazed at her; B'Elanna thought she would feel better after the rant but, if anything, all she felt was a dull ache in her stomach. The John Torres she remembered would have taken the bait and argued, shouted until either he or her mother stormed away in a fit of rage, but B'Elanna was unused to this man who apparently refused to argue and refused to play the game. Despite the accusations laid at his door he stayed silent, until B'Elanna was forced to speak again.

"Why are you here?"

"I told you – I wanted to see you and the baby, maybe even meet the man who managed to tame my daughter. Is it such a crime?"

"It is after all this time," she growled, picking at a loose thread in the cushion of the rocking chair and inwardly refusing to look into his eyes again, "I'm still surprised that you're here."

He winced, the venom in her voice still evident even as she appeared to have calmed down. Looking thoughtfully into the mug in his hands, he said, "Anyway, Mrs. Paris got in touch with me, not the other way around. Why did you want me here?"

"I didn't."

"You're lying," he said. It wasn't an accusation, just a statement. A statement that B'Elanna knew was true.

"Have you heard of a man called Joe Carey?"

"I can't say that the name is familiar."

"He was my deputy on _Voyager_. In the first fortnight of being in the Delta Quadrant, I broke his nose and took his job and he still turned out to be the best deputy I could have hoped for."

John nodded, his entire attention focused on her words. She realized that this was something she had only told a handful of people, and she could tell from the way he moved slightly forwards on his seat that he was keenly aware this was the most confidence she had given him in a long while. But once she started, she couldn't stop.

"Joe died, a month before we got home. He has two sons, who waited for him to come home and he never did. I met them and they're amazing, just amazing. I guess that I've been feeling guilty that they don't have a father anymore and I have one but I don't talk to him."

"I'm sorry that he died, B'Elanna. It sounds like the two of you were close."

"We were," she nodded, a hint of a sad smile on her face. She really is beautiful, John thought to himself, still amazed that this sensitive and attractive woman had grown from the awkward young girl that he remembered. _Voyager_ had been kind to her; she seemed more comfortable with herself than she ever had before – never would she have spoken about something so upsetting in such a candid way. He wished that he knew how to tell her that without sounding like he was insulting what she used to be. She still had the Klingon temper after all, however mature the human side may have become. But then they were interrupted by the return of Julia Paris and the gurgling Miral. B'Elanna's eyes lit up when she was handed her child and she looked such a wonderful picture of motherhood that he hoped to burn the image in his mind. Julia leaned over her and whispered something in the younger woman's ear before turning, smiling at John and disappearing inside again.

B'Elanna stood slowly and walked towards her father, "Would you like to hold Miral?"

"Please," he breathed, holding out his arms. B'Elanna put her gently down and retreated to the safety of the arm chair. John gazed down at the little face peeping out from the blankets and, as everyone did when near the baby, reached out one finger and stroked her forehead.

"You've probably already been told this," he smiled, "But she looks so much like you."

"Her attitude is all Paris," B'Elanna said wryly, "But maybe that's not such a bad thing. He might not be able to cope with two of us."

John couldn't ignore the comment any more than he could ignore the melancholy with which it was said. There was no anger in her voice – just sadness, and tired sadness at that. He took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye.

"B'Elanna, I'm sorry for what happened between us. I truly am. I know that it was my fault and I take the blame for it gladly. I shouldn't have left you like I did, although I still think that I did it for the right reasons. It was no way to bring you up, in the middle of a battle zone. I know it's going to take a long time for you to forgive me and even longer to trust me but can we try? I want to get to know you and Miral and Tom and all the other people who are important to you. Can we try? Please?"

The last word was a plea, soft and insistent, and despite the armour that she had put firmly in place, B'Elanna could feel herself slipping.

"It won't be a walk in the park," she said, utilising a favourite phrase of Tom's, "I'm not that easy to get along with. Like Mom."

"I know. But I'm willing to try if you are. Please? I don't want to miss out on my grand – daughter growing up as well."

Letting out a shaky breath, she nodded slowly, watching with interest as an invisible weight lifted from his shoulders, "OK. But slowly. And on my terms."

"Agreed," he said, standing slowly and handing the baby back to her mother, "I have to go, but can I call you? We can meet up for coffee or something – I'd like to meet Tom."

"Yeah. That'd be good."

He leant down and she jerked her head back, thinking that he was trying to kiss her cheek. He moved past her and gently kissed Miral's forehead, meeting B'Elanna's eyes as he came back up.

"Your terms, I know. Goodbye B'Elanna."

"Goodbye. Dad."

"It's good to hear that again," he smiled, pushing his way through the door, and from the sounds of the voices, gleefully meeting Julia inside.

B'Elanna gazed down at Miral and the baby stared back. B'Elanna could have sworn that the little girl had an eyebrow raised in a startling impression of Tuvok.

"You're right, Miral," she chuckled thoughtfully, "That went better than I ever thought it would."


End file.
